Fat Charlie
by xBeautyintheBreakdown
Summary: Overweight Charlene is in love with Soda. Unfortunately, her best friend is Sandy. But Sandy isn't the girl everyone thinks she is. Will Charlene rat out her best friend's biggest secret?
1. Chapter 1

So I'm at the Dingo, sitting next to Sandy in a booth across from Sodapop Curtis and some guy I barely know- I think his name is Mark- and as usual I am left out of the conversation. This is nothing new to me; no one ever pays me any attention. Which is funny, considering how I'm so big it'd take a blind person _not_ to notice me. And by big I mean I'm fat, overweight, chubby- however you'd like to put it. Sure Soda had tried to talk to me a couple times, to make me feel included because he's such a nice guy and all, but Sandy always manages to distract him just when he's asking me a question. I wonder if she does it on purpose. Mark also talks to me here and there, little snippets of conversation, but I can tell he's just doing that to ease the awkward silence between us. Sandy and Soda are much too absorbed in each other to even notice our existences.

The name's Charlene but please call me Charlie. For some strange reason people always forget my name. I wonder why. Oh, I remember! It's because I have an impressive collection of nicknames, that's why. Fatass and Chubster are among the nicer ones. But it's ok, I'm pretty much used to it. After all, I've been dealing with the same crap for the last ten years, so this is about as new as yesterday's-shit-on-newspaper.

I'm a damn smart greaser girl, if I do say so myself. No, I'm serious. Whereas more than half of the female greaser population are out blackening their lungs by cigs or sleeping with half the town, I don't. I'm smarter than that. (Although I really do credit my appearance as the main reason for why I haven't slept around- I figure no guy would want to "do it" with me.) I have a lot of friends and I go out, and I guess everyone likes me because I don't mind being teased. I actually sometimes even tease myself. I find it easier that way, to go with the flow and laugh at what everyone else is laughing at. Even if it means they're laughing at me. I can fit in that way, you know?

Better to be a teased girl than a lonely girl. But I am pretty funny, and the teasing usually stops after people get to know me better. My best friend is Sandy. She has been since the 2nd grade. Always the prettier one, the beautiful blonde, if you'd like, she always got any guy she wanted and was super popular. I couldn't even get the nerdiest boy in school to fancy me. Man, I don't even think Frankenstein would've taken a second look. I mean who would like me, the overweight brunette who had frizzy hair?

_So who's your boyfriend?_ People would ask me.

In order to dodge the question, I'd answer, _Casper the ghost._

The not too bright ones would stand there and have this blank stare on their faces. _So is Casper gonna pick you up or what?_

Yes, guys, Casper the Friendly Ghost is really going to pick me up. See? Like I told you. Most girls I know aren't too bright.

"Charlie!"

I was so busy thinking and staring at Soda that I didn't even notice Sandy calling my name. "What?"

Sandy smiled a sugary smile. She seemed to be clenching her teeth as she said, "Soda's askin' you a question." For a moment I thought she was constipated or something. The one thing that Sandy hates most is getting the spotlight taken off her- but outsiders never knew that, only I did. They all thought she was an angel because she looked like one. I could tell you things about her that would make your skin crawl.

"Oh, sorry. What was it you were saying, Soda?" I turned my eyes to him. God, he was beautiful. Perfect in every way. He was even nice, too. The only flaw he has is that he dropped out of school and isn't interested in an education. I feel butterflies whenever he even looks at me. But I must not feel that way, because he's Sandy's boyfriend. He's infatuated with her, and anyway, I'm not good enough for him. I figure the day he actually goes for me is the day I find out I'm the missing heir to the Queen of Sheba. And that's not bloody likely.

As Soda was talking to me, I could see Sandy glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. Uh-oh. When we are finished with our conversation, I look at Sandy, hoping my eyes are telling her that I am sorry, that I didn't know why he was talking to me. But she just ignored me.

Fine then, if she's going to be a witch, then I'm not going to tell her that she has a glop of mustard on her left boob. I giggled to myself.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, I really appreciate them! **

After the lunch with Soda and Mark, Sandy insisted that we go to my place. It was weird, but she had been going there a lot lately. I had no idea why; my house isn't exactly a four-star mansion, if you catch my drift. And since I wasn't in the mood for any arguments, I just gave in, even though my house was the last place on the face of the planet I wanted to spend time at during the weekend. Why waste a perfectly good Saturday to come home to a dysfunctional family? Beats me.

On the way, I stopped at the local grocery store to pick up some snacks: a carton of ice cream, beef jerky and a bag of M&M's- what can I say? I eat like there's no tomorrow. Living in Tulsa, you'd never know when that tomorrow was. I ask Sandy if she wants anything, but she just stares at the food like they're the devil reincarnated or something. In fact, she had been acting weird since we left the diner. She kept touching her arms, as if she had some annoying rash, and kept saying over and over, "I shouldn't have had that damn burger…I shouldn't have had that damn burger…" At first I thought she was regretful because it might've tasted like crap, but wow was I wrong.

So we get to my house, and thankfully my parents aren't home. Where were they? I'd never know, they don't tell me crap. My dad's probably out buying booze or something. And my mom's most likely out with her hideous friends, who apply so much makeup they look like clowns. I always prefer to be home by myself; no drunken arguments, no name-calling, no nothing. It's not easy having a dad who's an obsessive drunk and a mom who longs for a beautiful, model-sized daughter. (Which, in case you haven't noticed, I'm the total opposite of.)

I suppose that's why my mom likes Sandy so much- because she wishes Sandy was _her _daughter. Ridiculous, isn't it? I mean here I am, with enough meat to go around, and my mom chooses to ignore me and pretend my best friend is her daughter. Go figure. She masks the fact that she likes Sandy more than me by saying that she had always wanted more daughters, but that's total bull. Why would she need more daughters when I alone make up two or three?

"Why the hell do you have so many cats?" asked Sandy, as she wove her way through the nine sleeping little bodies.

Yes. I have nine cats, and they're all named George. It's a hell of a lot easier for all of them to have the same name. I'm not too big on fancy names; imagine having a cat named Salvadora or something. I'd never remember it. True, some of them are females, but I named them when I was 11 years old and you just don't check for private parts when you're 11. Well at least I didn't.

So we're sitting on the couch, Sandy sitting quietly with this funny look on her face and me with my feet on a fat cat, basically doing nothing, until she says, "I think I'm going to go to the bathroom."

Well that's great. Thanks for announcing that, Sandy. "Ok, have fun. Go wild."

When she left, I noticed that she still has this funny look on her face. Her arms are red from the constant scratching. There must be some killer mosquitoes I'm unaware of or something.

Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

_Either she's taking the longest crap in the world in there, or she's dead. _

I walk to the bathroom to check how she's doing, and suddenly I hear this retching noise. The first thought that hit my mind was that one of the Georges were coughing up an extremely huge hairball, but then I realized that the sound was coming from the _bathroom._ Scared out of my wits, I press my ears against the door.

_Sandy was throwing up._

I didn't scream her name, I didn't shout- I was practically mute, my voice wasn't working at all. My first instinct was to open the door, which I tried, but it was locked. My second instinct was to knock it down, which was what I did. Being big does have its advantages, and being strong is one of them.

The door flies open and all I see is Sandy, my best friend, kneeling on the ground over my toilet, barfing and barfing her guts out, her hair wild and clothes matted with vomit and all I could think is, WHAT THE HELL'S THE MATTER WITH THIS GIRL?

I stand there frozen for a split-second and then stepped forward to grab Sandy and pull her away from the toilet. I didn't know what to say, what to think, and I don't remember if I cried or not, but all I remember was shaking her and screaming, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? ARE YOU CRAZY?" Sandy was unresponsive, her eyes half-closed, mouth open like she was screaming silently. She was like a Raggedy-Ann doll, her body frail and limp. But I just kept raving on and on. "IS IT WORTH IT TO BE SKINNY? IS IT SO GLAMOROUS THAT YOU HAVE TO RESORT TO THIS?"

And I'm panicking and panicking and suddenly I feel a rush of anger; Sandy was already skinny, was already perfect and now she's PURGING? If ANYONE was to puke their damn guts out to be skinnier, it was ME! My mind was screaming and I couldn't think clearly.

_I'M THE FAT ONE!_

And I'm just so overwhelmed by the fact that she would vomit to maintain her thinness that I just felt sick all over. I wanted to leave, I didn't care about Sandy then, I just wanted to run out of the bathroom…but when I made a move to do so, she grabs my arm and then starts to cry hysterically. "Don't leave me, Charlie, don't leave me!"

I look down at her, and she's sobbing inconsolably, her lips smeared with her own puke. Was this what she had been doing at my house all along? My thoughts were in a jumble, and I couldn't think clearly with Sandy saying over and over, "You're my only friend, Charlie, you're my only friend, don't leave me…don't leave me…"

And she is right. I AM her only friend. And I've known her far too long to ignore her now.

The last thought that crossed my mind was, _I'm never going to look at my toilet the same way again._


	3. Chapter 3

The whole discovery about Sandy being a crazy, bulimic psychopath might as well didn't happen at all, because after that incident, she never brought it up. I didn't either, seeing as how it'd be too awkward to say, "Hey, remember that time you barfed all over my toilet 'cause you wanted to be skinnier?" She just went on with life as if everything was normal: living life as an attractive female whom all the boys went for. Sandy never really had that many suitors before, but now she has to fend them off with a stick. I guess going out with Soda earns you a reputation as the IT Girl.

Sandy is an IT Girl because going out with Sodapop Curtis is like dating a celebrity. Soda is total celebrity-status, minus the money, and it didn't hurt that he was a nice guy also. He has so many admirers that if he chose you as the girl he'd like to go steady with, you know you'd hit the jackpot. You would have instant fame. All the guys would like you. All the girls would hate you. It's the equivalent of being crowned Miss America. Except in this case, Miss. Sodapop Curtis.

But if barfing your guts out and earning the right to be dragged off to the loony bin are the qualifications of becoming an IT Girl, then thanks, but no thanks.

Still, it would be nice to feel how it's like to be in the spotlight.

I thought about all this as I was walking to the DX. Sandy was out with her mother, shopping, and I just wanted to escape my house. My mom and dad were both at home, which was rare, but whenever they were, you'd better get your bullet-proof vests and shields ready. She'd yell at him due to his incessant drinking and he'd scream at her for wasting all his money on make-up. There would be some thrown objects and then, out of nowhere, their conversation would focus on me and they'd accuse each other of whose fault it is that I was fat. My mother wasn't fat. Nor is my father. Makes you wonder how on earth I got the fat gene, eh?

"Hey, you fat ball of grease! Get out of the road!"

I looked up to see a bunch of socs riding in a Mustang, cackling their pathetic heads off. I guess I literally was a 'fat ball of grease', considering how I'm a greaser, but still- those guys were twigs. Literal, gangly twigs who just enjoyed taunting others and feeling tough. If making fun of a fat chick who could snap you in half is funny…well then, you're not all that smart, are you now?

I ignored them and kept on walking. Socs made fun of my weight but god forbid if they ever wanted to pick me up.

So I reached the DX, finally, and saw- oh, big surprise!- Soda surrounded by girls. He was working at the cash register and those girls weren't leaving him alone. What a typical girl maneuver- they dish out ten cents to pretend to buy a coke and then wind up standing all day there and trying to make conversation. When he saw me enter, he nodded his head in acknowledgment and then smiled. What a nice guy.

Racking through the rows and rows of junk food and candy, I finally settled on a bag of Cracker Jacks and gummy bears- my favorite! I remember when I was real little, before I was fat and my mom loved me, she would joke around and tell me how those gummy bears were really baby bears that had been kidnapped and gummy-tized. Let's just say I was a little traumatized after that, but ever since then, I've been crazy about gummy bears. Those rainbow, chewy little critters.

With my selections picked out, I was ready to pay. The only problem was, the girls were still standing there, oblivious to the fact that there was a hungry customer waiting in the back. "You girls can finish paying for your one bottle of coke anytime now," I announced sarcastically, "While the grass is green, please."

One of the girls, this twiglet with long blonde hair and green eyes glared at me and then all but spat, "Wait your turn, fatty."

Oh no, she didn't!

Right when I was about to step forward and grab Barbie's (that's what I'm going to call her) hair, Soda's spoke to her directly. "Hey. Don't call Charlie fat, ok? She's my friend."

It was then that Barbie flushed a bright pink and then stuttered, "Oh, I was just joking around, Soda! I didn't mean anything…" She giggled nervously but Soda didn't crack those usual grins of his. He just looked at her intently, unsmiling.

Embarrassed, Barbie muttered a "bye" to both of us and then motioned for her two groupies to follow her. As I watched her leave, I felt pretty good. Sodapop Curtis had just stood up for me. Me, Fat Charlie.

"Don't listen to her," Soda said, flashing me his famous smile, "You ain't fat."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically and then said, "It's ok. I know I'm fat, I'm used to it." Which was true. I didn't feel angry, humiliated, ashamed or anything. I just felt, whatever.

Truth be told, the subject about my weight was getting a little uncomfortable so I tried to not talk about it, but Soda wouldn't have it. "Don't say that, Charlie!"

"Well I sure as hell aren't skinny," I said, grabbing my bag of Cracker Jacks. And then I laughed. "It's ok, Soda. You don't have to try to save me. I know how to handle those girls on my own."

"I'm sure you can," he said and then looked me over once again. "Like I said, Charlie, you ain't fat. You're just curvy, that's all." He grinned at me sheepishly and then handed me all my stuff. "Tell Sandy I said hi, will ya?"

"Sure thing," I replied.

What a nice, nice guy.


	4. Chapter 4

Keep in mind: I am not a stereotypical person. However, an exception can be made for the term "blondes are dumb" when observing Sandy attempting to participate in class.

Let me repeat: I have nothing against blondes.

I have a relative, Aunt Myrtle, who lives in Alabama and is nothing short of a genius- and she's a blonde.

I guess what I really mean to say is Sandy, to put it kindly, is "intellectually challenged." Beautiful, yes, but kind of…slow. Fortunately for her, back then the boys at our school- actually, most boys in general- didn't give a flying bag of manure about brains or smarts; all a girl had to do was own a huge pair of jugs (excuse me for my vulgarity) with a slim body to match and TADA! They're popular, accepted and worshipped.

So really, I wasn't lacking much in the requirements for total and absolute popularity- I mean, I have boobs- but was I popular, accepted or worshipped? Yeah, about as worshipped as your crazy, lint-obsessed next door neighbor. Just because I had a fat belly to _match _my boobs, no guys were romantically interested in me at all. In our society looks mattered and unfortunately, I wasn't much to look at. Back in the day (and I'm sure it still applies now) it didn't matter if a girl was smart, bright or had a personality of a saint from heaven; If she wasn't "easy on the eyes" then she might as well kiss her chances of having a social life goodbye; unless that certain girl happened to be "easy".

To me, there is nothing more degrading than an eager-to-please girl who is insecure enough to be influenced to do the wrong thing and be a person they're not. But I know a lot of girls fit that description because everyone wants to be accepted.

And that fact makes me feel sad. And sick. And angry enough to shoot a fat mouse in a maze filled with cheese.

Okay, so enough of my ramblings on our corrupted society: I was sitting in English class and trying to finish the assigned novel when the teacher, Mr. Buck, decided to have a class discussion on the novel.

"Can anybody tell me what drove Madame Angeline angry enough into shooting her husband?" he asked, looking expectantly around the class.

I raised my hand. "She shot her husband because she found out he was having intercourse with another woman, three months after their marriage."

"Very good," he praised. "Can anyone else-" He never got to finish his sentence, because in that moment Sandy decided to interrupt.

"Mr. Buck!" she exclaimed, raising her hand furiously in the air, "Mr. Buck!"

"Yes, Sandy?"

"Charlie's wrong!" she announced, sweeping her blue eyes smugly around the class, her gaze landing solely on me, "That ain't the reason why Madame Angeline shot Luc; it's because she found out he was having sex with another woman, that's why!"

Awkward silence.

"That's what she said, Sandy," explained the teacher, confused.

"No she didn't," countered Sandy indignantly, "She said Luc was havin'…what was the word…"

"Intercourse," I supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, yeah that," said Sandy, "She didn't say he was havin' sex with another woman."

Another awkward silence.

"Intercourse _means _sex," said Mr. Buck after a couple seconds of silence.

"Oh. Yeah I knew that."

Uh-huh.

For some reason, Sandy always wanted to show the world that she's better than me, in every single way; but man, if she wanted to challenge me on something, it shouldn't have been on academics, because I'd whoop her skinny ass in any subject. Modestly speaking, of course.

After school and spending several hours at my house, Sandy wanted to walk to the DX to visit Soda. The whole day she didn't really talk to me since she was miffed at me for supposedly "tryin' to show her up."

When we entered the store, the sea of girls parted for Sandy like she was freakin' Moses or something and left the place, since there was no point in hitting on Soda with his girlfriend on the premises. Maybe it was because she intimidated them. Or maybe they thought I was her bodyguard and was going to beat them up or shoot 'em in the head if they dared interfere with my buddy's man or something.

"Hey, Sandy! Charlie!" greeted Soda with a wide grin. Steve was also there and mumbled his hellos before heading back out to fix a car- for some reason he never looked at Sandy or me in the eye when talking to us- perhaps he didn't like us. Well, I didn't know about me but I _knew _he disliked Sandy- he didn't trust her much, I can tell by the way he looked at her.

While Sandy and Soda were cuddling, smooching or did whatever the hell couples did, I spotted one of my classmates reading a comic- Ponyboy Curtis, Soda's kid brother. Now, I've known some nice people in my day, but that boy was the sweetest and shyest greaser to have ever popped out of a womb. Not only did he look remarkably like Soda, he was really smart- and I mean _really _smart. The kid was only 14 and he was in my junior-level history class.

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Ponyboy! Whatcha doing?"

When he turned around and saw me, his green eyes crinkled into a smile. "Hi, Charlie. I'm just waitin' for Soda to finish his shift, then us and the rest of the gang are off to the Dingo. Darry's not coming home 'till late today." He put back his comic. "I don't really read these things," he continued with a grin, "I'm just bored."

You can't even _imagine _how long it took for me to open this kid up- he was especially quiet in an upperclassmen class- but after talking about books and sunsets (what 14 year-old greaser brings up sunsets?) I found that he was pretty tuff, like having a little brother around or something. I've met the rest of the gang at a couple parties, and they're all nice- well, except Dally. He's an ass.

"I see," I said.

Before I could say anything meaningful Soda walked over to us and exclaimed, "Say…why don't you and Sandy join us and the gang for dinner?"

The store was empty; Steve was busy turning off the lights and attaching the "CLOSED" sign on the door.

I looked at Sandy, who didn't seem too happy. "But baby," she started, resting a hand on his shoulder, "Charlie's busy tonight."

"Yeah…" I said hesitantly, playing along. I did _not _need a psychotic friend to add onto my agenda of things to worry about at the moment. I mean, what if she got so jealous she shoots me during my sleep or something?

Nah, I'm kidding. She wouldn't have ever done that, even if she was a little loony.

But I wouldn't put it past her.

"It'd be fun if you came," said Ponyboy, offering another smile. "I think you should come."

"Yeah," chimed in Soda, "A party's never started until Charlie's around."

Did Soda know that when he uttered those words he unconsciously signed my death certificate?

Sandy's eyes narrowed.

But ah, well. I was always one to take risks.

"I guess I'll come."


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't be seen in public like this," I protested, staring at my reflection in horror. "I- I mean- mom, seriously. I look like a clown."

My mom, Velma, totally disregarded my comment and proceeded to smile goofily at me. "I can't believe it. You have finally decided to become a woman!"

Oh thanks, mom. I guess I've been a man for the last sixteen years and four months of my life.

Well, you learn something new everyday.

"Mom, I just can't, ok? I'm going to wash it off."

"Don't you dare!" she threatened, jumping in front of the sink as if she were guarding it with her life. "After I spent all this time on you, you want to wash it all away? And besides, you look wonderful."

"Mom." I point a finger to my face. "First of all, you took five minutes doing this. You make it seem like you've wasted an eternity. Secondly," I added hastily, before she could get a word in edgewise, "I do NOT look wonderful! I think you've committed some federal crime by just _attempting_ to make me up!"

"Nonsense. Now you go out, sweetledee, and have a fabulous time!"

I laughed hollowly. "Yeah, a fabulous time where? In a jail cell after someone calls the fuzz and reports that a murderous clown is on the loose? Thanks but no thanks, mom."

My mom's right eyebrow shot up, a sure sign that she's irritated, and she puffed out her chest. "Well. You do whatever you like, then." She turned to leave.

Thank. Every. Supreme. Being. On. Earth.

"BUT!"

I impatiently crossed my arms and tapped my foot. Sandy was probably waiting outside, completely furious. She wanted to make a quick pit stop at her house for a quick coat of makeup- and a quick vomit, I'll bet- and told me she'd meet me in front of my house in ten minutes. It was only a great misfortune that my mother decided to come home at the exact same time I came in and insisted that I "pretty up" for the boys.

Most parents would be terrified at the prospect of their daughters dating. But no, not mine. They'd be crying tears of happiness if _any_ boy asked me out- rapists, murderers, members of the mafia- whatever. As long as they were men. I bet if I came home pregnant one day with some random hooligan they'd crap themselves out of happiness.

"Don't come crying to me when none of the boys ask you out!"

"Will do, ma."

After she had gone, I turned on the faucet and washed every speck of makeup off of my face. First the orange gunk, then the disgusting red smears on my lips, and lastly the black dirt off my eyes. That left basically nothing- just my pale face, hazel eyes, thin lips and a sprinkle of brown freckles on my nose. My frizzy hair was out of control and looked incredibly electrified, as if I'd just been electrocuted.

I felt very ugly.

But I felt uglier with the makeup on.

I suppose everybody has a feature they are proud of, and mines are my eyes- or so I've been told. They look sort of brown from a distance, but at a certain angle, or if you're close enough, you'd see they were mostly green. They smile whenever I smile and crinkle up at the corners; unlike Sandy's eyes, which were, in all honesty, beautifully blue, but were cold.

Anyway, enough about my eyes. So I finished washing everything off, ran out of the house in case mother wanted to chastise me again, and almost ran directly into Sandy.

"What the hell took you so long?" She had a cigarette in between her fingers and looked like one of those greasy trash girls.

"Since when did you smoke?"

"Since when were you so nosy?"

Hm. Can't beat that.

When we finally got to the Dingo, which was where the boys were waiting for us, Sandy flicked away her cigarette and popped in a piece of candy. I guess she didn't want Soda to know she smoked, probably because he didn't. Well not much, anyway. I've only seen him with a cigarette once, and that was when Sandy had mysteriously fallen ill and refused to have visitors at her place for a week.

"'Ello, girlies," drawled Two-Bit, the second we were within view of their booth. I've always liked Two-Bit. He was voraciously funny and a swell guy. We got along just fine, though I must admit that if we ever had kids they'd be the funniest ones on earth.

The rest of the table greeted us normally. I slid in the seat next to Two-Bit while Sandy sidled up to Soda, who casually slung his arm around her. On one side of the booth sat Johnny, Ponyboy, Two-Bit then me. Darry, Dally, Soda and Sally sat on the other side, and to make room for Sandy, Steve had to pull up an extra stool. I could tell he wasn't too thrilled about giving up his spot and silently applauded him on actually seeing something he didn't like in the girl. Everybody else thought she was positively perfect.

When the waitress came and asked for our orders, everybody had a triple deluxe cheeseburger except Sandy, who- oh gosh, big shocker!- ordered a salad. Conversation was kind of stilted; Darry was too tired to even lift a French fry, Soda and Sandy were immersed in a whispered conversation, Johnny and Pony were engaged in an eating contest and that left Two-Bit and I, who were stuck listening to Dally's ramblings.

"So anyway, I woke up next to some broad I nailed the night earlier, thinking it was Sylvia, when it was actually Tim's girlfriend!" Dally's loud, obnoxious voice could be heard around the diner, unashamed and unabashed. He started cussing like there was no tomorrow and added with a chuckle, "He's gonna kill me."

Two-Bit cackled like mad. "Well if you need my trusty switchblade, just let a brother know."

"And I'll help you finish the job," I put in helpfully. Well, I was bored and I wanted to contribute to a conversation. The sight of Sandy pressing her face against Soda's shoulder made me want to barf a lung.

"How?" asked Dally, cocking an eyebrow, "By sitting on him?"

I winked at him and all but spat, "I wouldn't give him the pleasure."

"Well said," chirped Two-Bit, snaking an arm around me, "Sit on me anytime, babes. I'd rather be ended that way than be popped off by some looney."

I laughed and looked up at Sandy. Soda had turned around to talk to Darry and though he still had his arm around her, she seemed strangely unaware of his presence. Her eyes had this glazed look and she was staring straight ahead. It wasn't until a couple minutes passed when she quickly leaned into Soda and whispered, "Hold on. I have to use the restroom."

Soda nodded his head, still busy talking to Darry, and did not notice when Sandy made a right and exited the diner instead of making a left, where the restrooms were.

"Excuse me," I murmured, disengaging myself of Two-Bit's arm. "Lady problems," I muttered as an excuse, after he shot me a quizzical look. I stood up and made a right to the double doors to be greeted by the fresh night air. Sandy was nowhere in sight.

Weird.

Just as I was about to return to the diner, and mentally criticize myself for being a freaky stalker, I heard a rustle, some weird sound- and it was coming from the alleyway next to the Dingo.

I cautiously tiptoed my way to the dark alleyway and peeked in. Because it was incredibly dark, it took my eyes a couple seconds to focus properly; and when they did, I was met with a mind-blowing sight.

Sandy was in the arms of another boy, viciously making out with him. He had her up against the brick wall and her hands were all over him.

I was utterly speechless and after standing rooted to the ground for a couple seconds, silently fled back in the diner.

"Hey, where's Sandy?" asked Soda cheerfully, when I had come back.

"She- uh…"

She was sucking another boy's face off, that's what she's doing.

"She's still in the restroom."

"Everything ok?" he asked, concerned.

"Just chipper."

I looked down at my plate of food and suddenly did not feel very hungry anymore. All I felt like doing was strangling Sandy.


	6. Chapter 6

"What the HELL did you think you were doing?"

"Let me go," snapped Sandy, wrenching her arm away from my grip, "You don't know anything, Charlie. It's none of your business."

After dinner, Soda had asked if we wanted to watch a movie with him and the guys. He didn't like to watch movies much, he told us, but since a horror movie was playing, he'd make an exception. Before Sandy could accept, I hastily lied and told him we had something planned for the night. None of the other guys seemed to mind, but I could tell Soda was disappointed. His usual wide grin faltered, and his dancing eyes turned wistful.

Sandy, of course, was seething on the inside. When the guys left, I took the liberty of grabbing her arm and dragging her to the back of the diner, where it was empty to give her a piece of my mind.

"None of my business?" I scoffed, "I saw you. I saw you and that guy. And this might come as a bit of a shock to you, but the guy you molested wasn't Soda!"

While yelling at Sandy, I suddenly had this wild desire to giggle- that was one of my quirks. Whenever I found myself in a dramatic or horrible situation, I'd have this need to burst into peals of laughter- mainly because I couldn't deal with serious things very well. Whenever put on the spot, I could only do what I did best: laugh. I had never spoken to Sandy so harshly before; though she and I didn't always get along, I mostly kept my negative thoughts towards her to myself.

"Shut up!" cried Sandy, her blue eyes blazing with anger, "I can do whatever the hell I want. And who I'm with does not concern you."

For a fleeting moment, the only thing that crossed my mind was, _Holy crap. She knows what 'concern' means?_

"And I don't know why you care anyway!" she continued, on the brink of hysterics, "I thought you hated Soda! Why would you give a flying shit about any of this? Tell me, Charlie. Why?"

And then it hit me. I didn't know why I cared so much. She was right- I was never Soda's biggest fan, and I certainly never had a crush on him. So why did I care?

"I don't know," I replied finally, throwing my arms up in frustration, "But that doesn't justify what you did, Sandy. You-you can't just do this to people! You can't go around behind Soda's back! You know how he feels about you!"

"Shut up!"

"You think that being pretty gives you the right to treat people this way? Well it doesn't. What happened to the old Sandy," I said, almost pleading, "What happened to the Sandy who loved animals and would never hurt a fly? The Sandy who couldn't care less what boys thought of her, the one whose priority in life was her family?"

"That Sandy is dead," she spat. She paced around restlessly, both hands clutching her head. There was this wild, helpless look in her eyes, a look I couldn't fully describe.

"Look, I didn't mean to-"

"She's gone," said Sandy, glancing at me desperately, continuing to pace, "She's gone. Last week. Didn't leave a note. Didn't say anything- she just up and left. I was asleep. She left at night. I was asleep- if I had just been awake, I could've stopped her, I could've stopped her from leaving…"

Realization suddenly dawned on me. "Your mom…"

"She left no money," continued Sandy, wiping away angry tears with her fists, "None. And now dad wants to leave too." By now she was sobbing brokenly. "He said he couldn't take it anymore. That she was a whore, and I probably am too."

"Sandy," I said, stricken, "Why didn't you tell me when this happened?"

"He doesn't come home anymore," cried Sandy, oblivious to my words, "And whenever he does, he can't even look at me in the eye. He says I look too much like her."

My mind was so tangled up it hurt to even think. My first reaction was to take a step toward her, to tell her it was going to be okay, but she backed away from me and started to laugh bitterly.

"You bitch," she whispered. "You bitch."

"No, Sandy, wait-"

Before I could finish, she had fled.

"God!" I was frustrated, angry and confused. Frustrated because I didn't know why I was so mad at Sandy for cheating on Soda; angry at myself because of the way I treated her; and confused because I didn't know whether to hug or strangle her.

After standing by myself for a couple seconds, I started on my way home. And then I came to thinking about the past: how Sandy and I met in elementary school, how she didn't change until the year before, when all that mattered was boys and looks. I tried to remember the last time I had been to her house, but it suddenly hit me that in all our years of friendship, she had never really allowed me inside her house. Whenever we hung out, it was always at my place, or the park. I didn't know anything about Sally's domestic life. I didn't know anything about her, it turned out.

I guess I really wasn't thinking straight, because on my way back home, I found myself meandering to the park where Sandy and I used to hang out, as kids. In a neighborhood like mine, the park was considered as pretty damn nice-looking. The playground and all its equipment were intact, unlike the other parks around Tulsa, which were tattered and rusted.

The park was empty. I sat on a swing and smiled to myself. I remember how Sandy and I first met; we were in the third grade, and I had just moved here from Ohio. Sandy, seeing I was lonely during lunch, wandered over and asked if I wanted to be on the swings with her- she'd push me, she offered. Before I knew it, we were having a grand old time- until my rump smashed into her face and she flew a couple feet backwards.

Yeah. I wasn't the skinniest kid at the time, either.

"Charlie?"

I looked up and saw the last person I wanted to see: Soda. He was wearing a shirt (even though it was freezing) and jeans, and had his hands in his pockets. Even through the dark I could see his bright smile and smiling eyes. "What are you doing here?"

I tried my hardest to muster a grin. "Uh…just thinking."

_Go away. Go away. Go away._

I was in no mood to deal with him right then. I didn't know whose side I was on: Sandy's or Soda's?

But to my misfortune, he walked over and sat on the swing next to mine. "Mind if I talk with you for a while?"

_Yes. I'd rather be shot nine times in the kneecaps._

"No. What are _you_ doing here?"

The moonlight was shining on his face, and for a fleeting second, he looked perfect. And it made me sick how perfect he looked- like a Greek god come to Earth. It's cheesy, I know, but only a select few people could encounter flawlessness in their lifetimes- and Soda's face, though he probably didn't know to what extent, was flawless.

"I skipped out in the movie. Just been thinking, too."

"Oh."

Silence. And then:

"I'm gonna tell you something," said Soda suddenly, turning to face me. "But I don't want you to tell anybody else, you hear?"

"Okay," I told him, "Your secret is safe with me."

There was another pause, and then while he spoke, I could tell he was smiling. "I think I'm gonna ask Sandy to marry me."

WHAT THE?

I guess he must have seen the shocked expression on my face, because he hastily added, "I'll get a better job and everything. I might wait till Pony gets out of school, though, so I can help Darry around the house and stuff."

Still, I was speechless. I didn't know WHAT to think. My stomach was churning and I had this sick feeling where I wanted to vomit.

"She might think I'm crazy," chuckled Soda nervously, "Hell, I think everyone would think I'm crazy, 'cause I'm too young and all. But I love her."

"Soda-"

Soda must have kept all of this inside him for so long, that he had to let it all out now. He didn't tell anybody about his plans- not his friends, or his brothers. Everything was so pent up inside him that while he was talking to me, he couldn't stop. It was like a dam bursting.

"I know what you're gonna say," he said, "That I'm not good enough for her."

"Don't say that," I said quietly.

""But I'm not." He looked at me and his eyes looked hopeful- like he was nervous about what I'd think. "I'm stupid. I dropped out of school. The only thing I can do is fix up cars and change gas for people."

"You're not stupid," I told him, "You have everything going for you! Do you know how many girls stop by your station just to _look_ at you?"

"And you think I care?" asked Soda, letting out a hollow laugh. I've never seen him so serious before. To me, he was always smiling, happy, careless. "Those girls don't give a damn about me- just my face. They know I'm stupid. They know I ain't a genius. Think about it Charlie. Let's just say I got into some car accident or something, and my face got all smashed up- you think they'd care about me anymore? No. They wouldn't.

"But Sandy, she would," he continued. "Sandy _cares_ about me, y'know? And even though I'm a nobody, and I know nothing, Sandy makes me feel as if I'm the smartest person in the world. She makes me feel like I'm somebody, not just some dumb hood. Because I ain't one. One day, I'm gonna see the world. And Sandy's comin' with me."

If I ever questioned about having a heart, I knew I had one then, because it sank and broke in two. Because that was when I knew the terrible truth: I had feelings for Soda. I felt for him like I've never felt for another boy before.

"What do you think she'll say?" he asked me, sincerely. Like if I gave him a negative answer, his life would be over and it'd be all my fault.

"I think-" I had to clear my throat, because it was so choked up. "I think she'll say yes. Why wouldn't she? She loves you."

And the last thing I saw was Soda's brilliant smile before my eyes blurred with tears and I had to turn away.


End file.
